There was a knock on the door and Matt’s voice outside.

“I’m okay,” I called back. “I won’t be long.”

I turned the hot tap on again and, under cover of its gushing water, upended the brandy bottle into my mouth. I’d managed to sneak the bottle upstairs after Mrs Green had left. I drank down six gulps, screwed on the cap and hid the bottle in the toilet cistern. Head swimming, I climbed into the hot bath that I’d run and settled myself against the curved porcelain. The water folded itself around me, soothing as a caress. I tried to breathe deeply, tried to empty my mind of thought and visualise nothing but the white sheets of steam hanging in the air.

Matt was in bed when I came back into the bedroom, not reading, just staring up at the ceiling. He seemed to fill the bed – his hairy-chested bulk looked incongruous against the white frills of the pillowcases. Normally the sight of him lying half-naked against the sheets would have struck a spark of desire in me. Today I felt nothing. I hesitated a moment and then crawled into the bed next to him and reached out a tentative hand. I wondered whether he’d be able to smell the brandy on me. I had a good excuse, if he did.

“Just a moment, darling,” he said. “Are you finished in the bathroom?”

“Yes.”

He pressed a quick kiss on my cheek, then rolled out of bed and left the room.

I curled my legs up beneath me and turned my face into the pillow. It smelt of the particular brand of washing powder that had always been used here – the smell of my childhood, up until the age of ten. After that, it was boarding school sheets that my nose was pressed against, boarding school sheets that, more often than not, were soaked with my tears, a faint silvery crust of salt visible upon them in the morning light.

The bedroom door opened and made me jump. Matt turned the light out as he got into bed and we lay there in darkness and silence.

“Come here, you.”

I was suddenly near tears. His arm reached out to roll me against him and I put my face against his chest, breathing in the smell of him.

“Oh Matt – “

“What, darling?”

I was silent for a moment, struggling not to cry.

“It’s been such a horrible day.”

“Yes. You’re tired now and no wonder.”

“Yes.”

I could feel the thud of his heartbeat in my ear, as it echoed through the bones of his chest. Its quick, steady pounding soothed me. I pressed myself closer to him, feeling – at last, thank God – some measure of peace. My eyes closed and when he spoke again, I had to ask him to repeat himself.

“I said, who did you think you were? I mean – did you really not realise that was you?”

“What?”

“Your reflection. You know – this afternoon – “

“Oh that.” I gave a tired giggle. “I don’t know.”

I was so tired. I could feel unconsciousness gathering itself in a slow crashing surge. My mouth seemed to move independently of my brain.

“Blonde. She was blonde.”

“Who was?”

“Jessica… Jessica was blonde.”

“Oh Maudie, darling. You’re not thinking of that again, are you?”

I wrenched my eyelids open one last time. How could I explain that I thought about her all the time, that she dogged my footsteps, that she hung about me, always that one step out of reach?

“She haunts me,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. Matt may have said something in reply but by then, I was fast asleep.

*

Buy Lost Girls on Amazon Kindle, available now.